


a taste of poison paradise

by Sapphire_blue



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-03-06 04:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_blue/pseuds/Sapphire_blue
Summary: Jon Snow arrives in Winterfell with the dragon queen. Arya has never been able to resist her curiosity.[A season 8 fix-it of sorts]





	1. breathless

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title is taken from britney spears' 'toxic.'

The Mother of Dragons’ arrival in Winterfell is one that is fit for a queen. The sight of her army stretches back even beyond the horizon, and she sits atop a horse that is as pale as her moonlight hair. Arya Stark notes all these details in the one moment it takes before her eyes catch upon her companion. 

Her heart stops for a beat before it starts anew in a staccato that is audible to her ears like the sounds of a warhorn. 

_ Jon _ .

She almost jumps in front of the marching army, but barely holds herself back. She must have made a sound or something,  _ must have _ , because Jon’s eyes find hers in a whiplash and just stops.

Jon has stopped moving, the army at his back coming to an abrupt halt. The silver queen is looking at him in askance, but Arya cares for none of it.

It feels as if the entire world has come to a standstill.

Jon seems to have stopped breathing. Arya is breathless. 

He looks like a man grown, nothing like the brother who had left her years ago. He has scars now, old and new, some faded over time and some still livid against his pale skin, and Arya’s heart aches. 

She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. There is little left of the girl he left in the woman she is now.

_ Will you hate me for what I have become, brother? Or will you love me and want me the same? _

She watches with baited hope and long forgotten dreams as Jon leaps off of his horse, ignoring concerned yells and crosses the distance between them in three quick steps. When he stops in front of her, Arya is startled to see tears clinging to his eyelashes and falling freely down his cheeks. All at once, she wants nothing more than for everyone else to disappear. This, what she and Jon have, is sacred and theirs. It should not be a spectacle for all of Winterfell to see.

Her wishes have counted for nothing for years, though, and so she smiles tremulously at him. She is aware that she is crying as well, but for once Arya Stark does not care if her tears make her look weak. She has been strong for so long, but Jon has always held her heart and with him, she does not have to be strong.

“Arya,” Jon breathes out reverently, “Little sister.”

He pulls off the glove off one hand with the other, fingers trembling, and rests his palm against her tear-stained cheeks. The touch makes her shiver from its gentleness. His skin is as cold as the ice beneath her feet but she has never felt warmer. 

Arya does not know who moves first; maybe it is her, maybe it is Jon, or perhaps it is both of them, but they crash against each other in a fierce embrace, heedless of the crowd watching them. One of his hands moves from her cheek to bury itself in hair, and the other wraps around her waist, tightening almost to the point of pain, but this is good. The pain reminds her that this is real, that Jon is not a dream that will slip away from her grasp come morning light. 

“Never again,” Jon murmurs into her neck hoarsely, “I will never let you go again.”

It is a sentiment she wholeheartedly agrees with. She never wants to part from her brother again, but her skin prickles from the stares and reluctantly, she detangles herself from him. She smiles at him again and looks to the dragon queen who is watching them with curious eyes.

Jon follows her gaze and grimaces. He knows he will have to return.

“Go,” Arya tells him, voice soft and gentle in a way it never is anymore, “I will follow.”

Jon looks like he wants to refuse, but sighs wearily and nods, pressing a tender kiss against her brows. Arya watches him go wistfully, before schooling her features back into a blank mask again. She doubts anyone will believe her mask after witnessing what they did, but they will not dare voice it out loud. 

Now that the euphoria of seeing Jon again has somewhat faded, she can see what she did not previously. Not faded, she amends to herself, it will never fade but she has more control over her thoughts now and what she notices is intriguing. Namely, the way the dragon queen is looking at her brother. And the way her brother is looking right back. But his gaze also holds guilt and she resolves to find the reason why.

Arya follows the march from the sidelines at a more sedate pace, and watches impassively as her sister greets Jon with a stilted embrace and the queen with a smile carved out of ice.

_None of us are summer children any longer._

Bran’s words ground them all into reality, reminding them of the impending battle between the living and the dead. Arya wonders if they will ever be free of this heartache. She has grown up with weariness in her bones. They all have.

_ We are the children of war. _

Hiding her musings from prying eyes with expert ease, she chances another curious glance at the queen. She stands tall and proud, beautiful with a kind face.

Arya vows to reserve her judgment.

Jon would not love someone unworthy.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the latest episode of game of thrones, I found myself starting a new fic to have some sort of peace of mind. I initially wanted to make this a dany/arya fic but my love for jon/arya is kind of irresistible so i just ended up writing this. No, this is not a love triangle, I detest those. It might look like one at times probably with all the angst, but the endgame here is jon/arya/dany. First time writing anything like this, so wish me luck!
> 
> As always, every kudos, bookmark and comment mean the world to me. Share your opinion in a comment, even if it's just a few words. They honestly make my day. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course, and if I have made a mistake anywhere, please tell me so I can fix it.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Sapphire xoxo


	2. fealty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some things lost are found again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to Carlie (Aryas_aria)  
> and Viviana (SelfishPresley) for being my beta readers! Couldn't have done it without you two!

Jon is still reeling from his reunion with Arya. He had known that she was alive, that she had come back home, but a part of him had been reluctant to hope until he could see her with his own two eyes. She had been just a little girl surviving all on her own in a world that is set on condemning her to death. He had hope once, before he had seen what the world had made of Sansa. He had hope once, before he had seen his little brother shot full of arrows, always remaining just out of his reach. Arya had been his heart once, still is if he is being honest with himself, and the dream of her being alive was as sweet as it was destructive. If he had had hope, and if he had been proven wrong, his heart would have surely died in bitterness and rage. Hope was a dangerous thing; it made people abandon caution and that was not something he could afford.

And then he had seen her.

Arya had been a vision, standing by the roadside, rigid and restrained. She had been staring at him, just another face in a sea of faces. But no, she had never been just another face, and Jon would always notice her. It was writ in his very soul.

He had jumped off of his horse, uncaring of curious eyes, and gone to her. He would always go to her. He had embraced her, felt her tears mingling with his, and had kissed her skin without abandon. 

Now, he greets the rest of his family in the courtyard. Bran is a man grown  now , sitting upon his wheeled chair like a king upon his throne. Jon kisses his brow, hoping his little brother can feel his regret for not being there for him. He can feel Bran’s quiet forgiveness in the shuddering breath he exhales in response. 

He straightens up and heaves a great sigh before looking at the woman by Bran’s side. Sansa stands tall and proud with her auburn hair and ice blue eyes, looking like Lady Catelyn come alive again. She is wroth with him, he knows, for bending the knee and bringing the Queen and her army back with him, but she must understand that the game of thrones means nothing when the dead come s for them all.

As Sansa greets Daenerys, hiding her displeasure behind a mummer’s smile and practiced courtesies, Jon looks around him in search of Arya. He can feel Daenerys bristle beside him in affront, and yet his gaze continues to roam until they finally settle on his little sister at the periphery of the crowd. 

Arya is watching him and Daenerys, eyes narrowed in calculation. There is a curiosity there too, and Jon feels a shiver of dread down his spine.

_ Will Arya know what we did in the darkness of the sea? Will she begrudge me loving another?  _

It knocks the breath out of him that he cannot find those answers in the strange yet familiar face of his little sister, and that frightens him more than the dead ever  have .

 

* * *

 

Daenerys is shown to her chambers, with only her handmaiden accompanying her. The rest of her retinue are scattered, some shown to their own chambers, and the remaining to leave for their camp on the grounds. Jon watches them go, a headache already forming behind his eyelids. He rubs at his temple with his palms, and when he lowers his hand, he is startled to see Arya standing beside him. He had not even heard her footsteps. It was almost as if she had materialized out of thin air. She takes a hold of his arm, fingers wrapping around the crook of his elbow, and says, “Walk with me.”

It is not a request. There is steel beneath her command and Jon is helpless. He can do nothing but follow. He marvels at the woman by his side, for she is a woman now, not the girl who had rained kisses upon his face years ago. Her hand is small and the skin of her palm is rough with callouses. There is strength in those hands, he thinks with awe. It is a thought that induces melancholy; she should have never had to grow up so fast. 

Shaking his head to clear his mind of the past, he is surprised to realize that Arya has led him to the godswood. It is quiet and deserted, with only the old gods standing watch over them. Arya does not speak until they are at the roots of the heart tree. 

“You love her.”

These are not the words he had expected to hear, not so soon. He closes his eyes in resignation.It seems Arya knows his heart too well, can see into his soul with the familiarity of someone who will always be a part of his very being. Of course.

“I do.”

Arya stares at him, something like surprise present in the slight widening of her eyes. She had not expected him to admit to it so easily. Jon will not lie to her, though, he cannot lie to her. Maybe it is selfish of him, but he hopes Arya had been afraid of being left behind. There is so little of his little sister remaining in this new woman who had come back that Jon is desperate to find any trace of their childhood bond in whatever form they come in. Maybe he is the one who is afraid of being left behind. 

Abruptly, Arya gestures at him to sit down and he carefully lowers himself on a root. Arya takes a seat beside him gracefully, their arms pressing together with nary a space between them. He can feel her warmth seeping into him through layers of clothes. 

“Why?” 

Her voice is calm and her face is serene, betraying nothing of her thoughts, and Jon finds himself at a loss. He does not know what to say, so he remains silent.

“Very well,” Arya sighs, “I suppose I will find out by myself. I trust your judgment.”

“You do?” The words escape before he can stop himself, and once they are spoken into the quietness of the godswood, he cannot take them back. He hates how lost he sounds; he is no longer a greenboy seeking acceptance from his comrades, but Arya has always managed to break down every wall he has ever erected. 

“Of course. I will always trust your judgment.”

It almost sounds like a pledge of fealty, with only the old gods to stand witness, so Jon throws all caution to the wind and makes a vow of his own.

“And I will always love you best.”

So it is spoken, and so it must be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Dany's chapter! I will admit that Jon/Dany isn't really my cup of tea but Arya/Dany and Jon/Arya are, so I'm going to try my best to make it all work! This will not be a love triangle, even if does seem like one at times. The endgame is Jon/Arya/Dany, so there will be no stabbing anyone in the heart like a damn coward. 
> 
> As always, every kudos, bookmark, and comment mean the world to me. Share your opinion in a comment, even if it's just a few words. They honestly make my day. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course, and if I have made a mistake anywhere, please tell me so I can fix it. I have a really bad habit of getting distracted halfway through sentences.  
> Thank you!  
> Cheers,  
> Sapphire xoxo


	3. intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the meeting of strangers.

The north is a cold and unforgiving kingdom.

Daenerys Targaryen has spent most of her life in Essos, where the summer heat was always scorching and the sun always shone as bright as flames. The north, with its never-ending winter and cloudless gray skies, makes her uneasy. 

The northerners all look at her in barely concealed wariness, as if afraid that she will release her children on them on a moment's notice. She has anticipated it, but it is still a hard truth to swallow. A daughter of Winterfell had been abducted by her brother and her father had burned two of their own. The seven kingdoms had plunged into war and an entire dynasty had been eradicated for the actions of a few. Yes, she has foreseen their wariness and fear, and yet she grits her teeth in frustration.

_ Must I always be judged on the sins of my father? _

Exhaling a sigh, she glances around the chambers she has been shown to. It is large, generously furnished, and the fire burning in the hearth is warming the room pleasantly. Jon has not deigned to follow her in. She does not begrudge him his elation at reuniting with his family. Growing up, Dany had had only Viserys as her family, and she had watched him grow bitter and angry, descending into madness until her Khal had finally crowned him in gold. Viserys had loved her, once upon a time, before his heart became twisted with hatred for all that had been taken from them. No, she does not begrudge Jon Snow his family.

The Starks are people of winter, with smiles carved out of ice and eyes as hard as frost-coated ground. Jon had been the same before he had given away to fire. He had warmed, and the rest will too. Still, she bristles at the memory of Lady Sansa's false smiles. Jon had spoken of her in Dragonstone, however briefly, and Dany had gathered his displeasure of her from unsaid words and half sentences. Jon had spoken of Bran too, the little brother who wanted to be a knight and became a cripple instead. Jon's voice had been much warmer when speaking of him, sorrow and fondness warring against each other in the shadows of his gaze. The only one he had not spoken of was the little sister. Arya Stark. Dany had thought that perhaps he was not as close to her as he was with his other siblings. How wrong she was. Dany had seen him run to her, had seen him tremble with unshed tears and forget the rest of the world. This was not the forgotten sister, she had realized, this was the sister he had loved so much that he could not even speak of her. In what little time they had known each other, Jon had worn sorrow like a cloak of armour, and his sorrow belonged to his little sister.

It had made her curious.

Dany had felt her eyes on her when they had reached the courtyard. She could not discern where Arya had been standing, hidden amongst the crowd as she was, and yet she had felt her eyes on her all the same. Perhaps she ought to have felt slighted that the younger Stark girl had not stood with the rest of her family to greet her, but strangely enough, she did not. Arya Stark with her grey eyes and dark hair, so much like Jon himself, intrigued her.

Very curious indeed.

 

*   *   *

 

There is no feast in her honour.

Dany had not expected one to begin with. Winter was harsh and the North had its people to feed. She had brought rationing with her, she had her people to feed too after all. It does not sting, although judging by the wary eyes of Lady Sansa, she had been expected to feel slighted. Dany swallows a sigh. Beside her, Jon spares her a glance and she waves him off tiredly. Jon nods and goes back to staring off into space. It is unbecoming of a king. Although...She chances another glance at him from the corner of her eyes. No, he is not staring off into space. He is glaring at someone, his fingers clenched around the wine glass so hard that it seems on the verge of shattering. She follows his eyes to where he is glaring, all the way to a table at the corner of the great hall, and swallows another sigh.

Arya Stark is sitting amongst the men she had brought with them. There is the blacksmith with his soot-covered skin scrubbed clean sitting beside her like an old friend, the Hound on her other side like an overprotective hulking shadow, and Beric of Dondarrion on the other side of the table. They do not have the wariness of strangers meeting for the first time.

Feeling intrigued, she turns to Jon. “I did not know they had met before.”

Jon startles slightly, but hides it easily with a practiced sip of his wine. Dany notices that his grasp on the wine glass has loosened. The poor wine glass might survive the night after all.

“Neither did I,” Jon answers after a pause, “It seems my little sister has returned to me a mystery.”

Lady Arya catches them both looking at her and smiles. It is not a gentle smile by any measure. There are too many teeth in it to be really anything but challenging but Dany feels her cheeks warm.

“Your Grace, are you feeling alright?” Lady Sansa asks, “You look a bit flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Dany answers quickly. And before she can think better of it, the words are already out of her mouth. “Does the Lady Arya always sit with the smallfolk?”

Lady Sansa’s mouth flattens in a thin line, her displeasure evident in being asked such a question. Nonetheless, she reluctantly says, “My sister has always made friends with everyone, regardless of their birth. She has little patience for proper decorum.”

“Admirable,” Dany says, truly meaning it.

A princess who does not hold herself above her people. A lady who can laugh and drink with common men. A woman after her own heart.

She looks at Arya Stark again and finds her staring at her with an intensity that seems almost too intimate for a crowded room. When their eyes meet, Arya smiles at her again, this time a little more genuine, with warmth that reaches her eyes.

Arya Stark truly is beautiful. She has the kind of beauty that creeps up on you and  _ stays _ . If she is anything like Lyanna Stark was, Dany can understand how her brother had forsaken everything and gone to war for her. 

Despite herself, Daenerys Targaryen finds herself smiling back. 

 

*   *   *

 

She finds her standing on the battlements. She is leaning on her elbows on the rails, watching the men preparing for the impending battle, and her face is impassive, giving nothing away. Dany raises a hand to halt her guards and they step away to stand at a respectful distance.

“We have not met.”

Arys Stark does not startle, nor does she turn to look at her. Still watching the men in the yard, she says, “No, we have not.”

Not deterred, Dany takes a few steps to reach her and stops by her side. “If I did not know better, I would think you share your sister’s distaste for me.”

This time, Arya does turn to look at her. Her eyes are startlingly gray, like the frost coating the ground beneath them. “But you know better.”

“I do.” A pause. “Am I not what you expected?”

“You are exactly as I expected.”

This girl, this  _ woman _ , makes her smile.

“Has my brother shown you the godswood yet?” Arya asks her, a teasing smirk gracing her lips.

“He has been very busy,” Dany answers good-naturedly. 

“Then I must,” Arya tells her easily, “Come, Your Grace.”

Arya Stark takes a hold of her palm, gloved fingers wrapping around her own like old friends, and tugs. Bemused, Dany follows her, her guards an ever-present shadow at her back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever keep to a schedule while writing? Who knows? Certainly not me.
> 
> Final year of college is hitting me hard, y'all. Also applications for teacher's college have begun and I have never been closer to a nervous breakdown than I am now. How do I deal with this? Why, by procrastinating of course.
> 
> Anyway, in this chapter, Dany meets Arya. I have tried to make sure that their conversations do not revolve around Jon. After all, I need to establish Arya/Dany without adding Jon into the mixture for now. It's a little tricky, because I want to make sure that it is equally Arya/Dany and Jon/Arya. Once again, this is a Jon/Arya/Dany endgame. Love triangle? Don't know her.
> 
> As always, every kudos, bookmark, and comment mean the world to me. Share your opinion in a comment, even if it's just a few words. They honestly make my day. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course, and if I have made a mistake anywhere, please tell me so I can fix it. I have a really bad habit of getting distracted halfway through sentences.  
> Thank you!  
> Cheers,  
> Sapphire xoxo


End file.
